At my 35-week appointment my midwife mentioned that I just had to keep this baby in for one more week and then she would most likely be absolutely fine to be born. At that point I had my mind set on delivering this baby on her due date and I still had five weeks left to prepare for her arrival. Suddenly I realized that she could be here any day!! and my world turned once again. I prepared myself mentally that she could be born within a matter of days. Although Friday came and went, 36 weeks came and went, but I didn't go into labor.
Then there is the logistics of making sure someone can take care of Dylan and the dogs. My father-in-law lives about two minutes away and en route to the hospital so he is our first phone call when I go into labor. We talked about how he would happily come to our house--if I feel I have enough time--especially if Katie decides to come in the middle of the night, and that way Dylan won't even know we are gone. But my father-in-law is also the father to two young boys, Sean's little brothers, and they had been staying at his house for the last few days. So then I worried, well, what would happen if I go into labor and have to wake Dylan up in the middle of the night to take him to his grandpa's house and then he doesn't go back to sleep and my poor father-in-law gets stuck with a wide awake toddler who may or may not wake the other kids? So I tried my hardest not to go into labor then. Both Sean and his dad said, Don't worry! We'll make it work! but I worried. I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. If I woke up in the middle of the night feeling crampy, I wished hard that I wasn't in labor. But I didn't go into labor.
And then came the blizzard. Two feet of snow! What would happen if I went into labor then? Sean had cleared our driveway a bunch of times, dug out my car, and should we have had to make a trip to the hospital then how would we make it? Would I give birth in the car? How would we get up that hill on the way to my father-in-law's house? More worry. But I didn't go into labor.
For the past two weeks I have been feeling like I am in early labor. My braxton hicks contractions are constant and achy, I've had endless rounds of high energy followed by extreme exhaustion, and there are a bunch more signs that are gross that I will not go into, so I keep thinking tonight is the night! Kathleen is so low in my pelvis that it feels like she may fall out any second and yet she is so high in my ribs that they feel broken. At the end of the day I find myself on the couch breathing deeply and massaging my ribs because I am in such ridiculous pain that I am involuntarily laboring my breath. Sean wakes up every morning and goes to bed every night saying, "I cannot wait to meet my daughter, and I cannot wait to have a whole week of vacation with my family." Trust me, I tell him, I want her out just as much if not more than you do, Love.
And then there are the text messages and phone calls. Everyone is excited to meet her. Is she here? Are you still pregnant? I think she will be born on ________. After weeks of hearing these things over and over, I find myself not wanting to talk to anyone. Anyone. I don't even want to play with Dylan--I want to go off and be alone--and then I feel guilty because this could be our last memory together before I leave him for who knows how long. And a part of me loves these messages. It's all so exciting. [AKA: Don't stop sending them just because I'm having a crappy day, I do appreciate hearing from everyone.] But then there are the days where I could cry if someone else points out that I am still pregnant.
Today was one of them. I woke up this morning feeling so very down in the dumps. It's only Wednesday. I am still pregnant. I cannot believe I have three more ten-hour days with Dylan, stuck indoors because of the snow, before Sean comes home for the weekend. And why am I still freaking pregnant? This morning I laid on the floor in front of the fireplace in a lump. How will I make it through the day? Through the hour, even? I let Dylan watch Cars, twice, and tried to smile when he looked over at me. I was beyond useless. And most of today continued like this until I tried to snap out of my funk. We made muffins, read books, played trucks, checked the mail, ate some snow, etc. And I put Dylan down for his nap at noon and immediately found myself trying to catch my mental breath. I was alone. I needed to be alone.
And then about fifteen minutes after I was sure Dylan had fallen asleep Sam decided to lose. his. shit.
I'm sure a neighbor dog barked or he saw a squirrel or a bird or a falling leaf, and he began barking hysterically at the window. The other two dogs followed suit and suddenly our house was filled with screaming dogs. I rushed after them grabbing them by the collars and trying to drag them away from the window and they continued to bark loudly as I moved them into the living room and threw up a gate to keep them out of the den. Thirty seconds later I heard Dylan crying from his room.
Of course. Of course the dogs had to wake him.
So I curled myself into a ball and proceeded to lose my shit. I bawled into a couch pillow feeling ever so sorry for myself. And with Jasmine being Jasmine she felt the need to jump on me and lick the tears off of my face to comfort me. Dylan continued to yell, "Mama! I'm awake! Are you there?! Downstairs! Mama!" and I continued to cry, stopping only to yell up to him occasionally that it was still nap time and he should be in bed.
Twenty minutes later he yelled, "Mama!"..."Mama!"..."Mama!"..."Mama!"...and even when I responded to him he continued to simply yell Mama. I couldn't take it. I kept yelling, "What is it?", pleading with him to say anything but Mama. Finally I stomped upstairs, my face soaked in tears, scooped him up and held him close to me in his bed.
He noticed I was crying immediately.
"Mama? Don't cry! Don't cry, Mama! It's OKay, Mama!"
I could've died I felt so terrible. How sad that my tiny two year old was comforting me.
"I'm not crying, sweetheart, I have something in my eyes. They are just watery."
He put his little arms around me and gave me a huge squeeze and then traced my neck scar several times.
"Are you crying because of your boo boo, Mama? Watery eyes?"
I reassured him that I was just fine, not crying, and that my boo boo doesn't hurt, remember? He then asked if we could go to Home Depot. And then he asked if we could take pictures.
And I didn't feel like crying anymore, although I probably will later tonight.
These are my hormones talking. I could've predicted this the second that second line appeared on our home pregnancy test. This is how I handle the last few weeks of being pregnant. But seriously, I can't take another day of Dylan not napping. I can't take another day of not having our little girl in my arms. I can't take this rib pain or feeling like I'm carrying a bowling ball in my pelvis. I can't take any more of these when is she coming questions. I am not at all afraid of labor; I can take the pain. The uncertainty and the waiting is the worst part.
Tomorrow will be better.